Sunlight filters through lattice windows, but no warmth reaches the old man crouched under the table. The yellow suit walks in like he owns time itself—until the TV shatters. Divine Dragon turns domestic space into a battlefield. Every object screams tension: the cup, the newspaper, even the floral bowl. Brutal elegance. 🪞💥
That crutch isn’t just support—it’s a weapon of desperation. The older man’s trembling hands, the way he clings to papers like lifelines… while the suited intruder smirks, then snaps. Divine Dragon doesn’t need dialogue—just shadows, sweat, and a forced signature on a ‘free transfer’ doc. Chilling. 😳